Sanity, The Unofficial Camp Mascot
by chocolatechipdelirium
Summary: In which Massie Block has to spend two months shacked up at Pinehurst, with the possibility of being knifed by some delinquent and/or blown up in some stupid camp activity and/or shot and/or eaten by a grizzly bear. AU.
1. Gate To Hell

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Clique, Lisi Harrison does. (Or Spells and Sleeping Bags, the inspiration for this, that belongs to SM.) Enjoy :)**

_..._

"Name?" asks the pen-chewing teen standing in front of the gateway to hell, (see also: the bus door).

The ponytail of her long blond hair is peeking out of her Mets baseball cap, she's chomping on the end of the pen like it's a pretzel, and her plastic tag reads _Mandy_,

I glare at her, mentally ordering her to stow chewing, but the effect of my death stare fades as I shudder again.

My parents made the announcement over French toast and coffee last week that they had enrolled me at Camp Pinehurst for the summer. I'd snorted out half the strawberry milkshake I'd been sipping on and managed to stain my Stella McCartney top, which was just the icing on the cake.

"Name?" Mandy repeated, shooting me a worried glance over her clipboard.

Breathe in, breathe out. Crap, it's cold. I should've checked the weather forecast before wearing the shortest pair of designer shorts I could find in my wardrobe. Or at least asked Isaac, so this wouldn't have been so embarrassing. The rest of the campers crowded around the bus are wearing jeans, and the sky is a stupid shade of dark gray to match my mood.

"Massie Block."

Chomp, chomp. "What grade did you just finish?"

"Ninth." I shudder. Was it supposed to be so damn cold out here? Manhattan sucked. My earlobes have frozen into blocks of ice, and now the doctor will probably have to amputate. Seriously. That's what they do with frostbite. Just call me Van Gogh.

Mandy chews her pen some more, then scribbles something on her clipboard.

"Mmkay. You'll be in cabin sixteen." She waves me away, giving me a pointed glance. "The bus leaves in ten minutes, so you have that much time to say bye to your 'rents and get to know some new people."

I grimace and make my way over to where Mom and Dad are standing next to the limo, identical beaming expressions on their faces. A roll of thunder resonates above us, and I clutch at my umbrella. Ehmagawd, if it rains and my hair goes all frizzy now, I swear to Bean someone will get seriously hurt. And it won't be my hair.

Dad smiles at me through his Ray-Bans. I cross my arms in front of my chest, the itchy material of the _Camp Pinehurst_ shirt we were forced to wear riding up my tummy.

The sky roars again. The seconds tick by, and It feels like the clichéd epilogue of some thriller movies Nina's boyfriend is always making us watch, where some psycho is going to jump out of a van with a machine gun and go on a rampage. On the bright side, it would mean I didn't have to spend my summer in Camp Pinehurst.

But on the other hand, I'd die in this stupid city with crap weather, which is not at all glamorous, and I'd be spending all my summers for the rest of time in the New York Cemetery.

Isaac waves at me from the passenger seat, but I turn my back on him. They're all traitors, for doing this to me.

Dad looks amused. I think he's remembering when I told him that the next time he would see me was when a large rectangular box would be delivered to his porch, because I'll have been knifed by some delinquent and/or blown up in some stupid camp activity and/or shot and/or eaten by a grizzly bear. It's nice to see that the death of his only daughter is a source of entertainment to him.

"So, excited for camp?"

According to him, it will be a wonderful experience and I'll meet new people and bond over s'mores and make friends for life, and he just wants me to have fun. Him and Mom have a paranoia I'm becoming "spoilt", and they don't think my best friend Nina's a good influence on me.

I stare at their beaming faces, trying to remember my yoga exercises for stressful situations like this one. "Just tell me one thing." I say, ignoring his question.

Dad motions for me to continue, and I draw in a breath.

"Will there be Wi-Fi?"

Mom shoots me an exasperated look, just when the pen-chewing girl picks up a megaphone and asked us all to board the bus.

My mouth fell open.

"Are you freaking _kidding_—"

I'm interrupted by the blue-lipped Mandy again, who has motioned to the bus driver to close the door. Crap.

Mom leans in to kiss my cheek, but I dodge her.

I turn back to my parents, not bothering to conceal my annoyance anymore. Their drinks must have all been spiked at that dinner party last night, because the whole world seems delusional. Me, Massie Block, go to a summer camp, infested with armies of mosquitoes and physical activities and ugly green shirts, and I'll have to _share_ a bathroom?

"Bye, sweetie, write often, okay?"

I shudder again, feeling physically sick.

And then climb onto the bus.

**…**

I skip up the three steps into the excruciatingly cold bus. The backseats are filled with sweating and chattering teenage girls, who all abruptly stop talking the second they see me.

They collectively look me up and down-I have no idea why, since we're all wearing the same assigned pale green Camp Pinehurst cotton T-shirts and matching shorts-and resume their conversations.

"You're all here, right?" Mandy is now looking nervously around the bus, pointing at each of us while silently counting. There are only about twenty of us on the bus, because we still have another stop before we get to the camp, so I slip into a seat by the window and pull my iPod and the newest _Teen Vogue_ out of my knapsack. "All right, you seem to all be here. Everyone ready?"

"We're ready," announces a brunette at the back. She has a blue streak in her hair and a NYHS swim team sweatshirt on. I stared at the goosebumps on my legs, and envied her.

Mandy's blue lips stretch into a half-smile. "Ready to start the summer?"

The girls around me all holler and applaud. I put the volume up on my iPod, biting down on the spearmint gum I'd popped into my mouth, blinking back tears.

God, I did _nawt_ want to go through summer camp. What would Bean do without me? She wouldn't eat, because she'd be so depressed about her missing owner, and probably do that thing where she wanders around and looks sad all the time, like she did when her favourite mini Bark Jacobs sweater got ruined in the wash, and then she'd die a neglected puppy, and—

"Then let's get this bus rolling!"

I sink further into my seat. The only rolling I'm going to be doing is in my grave.

**…**

**A/N: You might be a little confused, because it's different. Well, I decided against the diary format and changed it to Massie-centric, so I hope that clears it up a little. ******Once again, reviews aren't compulsory, but can be exchanged for cherry popsicles at the counter. D**o y'all have any p****airing suggestions?**

**One more thing: I'm in the process of creating a Writers Lounge: Clique Edition forum to discuss stories/chat with other authors/drink nonexistant coffee. It's still a work-in-progress, but check it out? And i****f anyone wants to be a moderator, feel free to PM me. The fandom needs more love.**

**Till next time, **

**-chocolatechipdelirium.**


	2. Why Does It Always Rain On Me

**SQUEEEEE! Yesyes, I'm updating this. Mind you, updates will be s l ooo w for the next two weeks. Very slow. **

**To clear this up: Massie has just finished her freshman year and will be fifteen by the end of the summer. ****Ughalsfdjsf. This really sucked before burning rainbows beta'd it. So thanks :D**

****Guess what? In the space of two days, I have still not gained the rights of the Clique series, they still belong to Lisi Harrison. I know I'm ninja, but I'm not **_**that **_**ninja.** Disclaaaaaaimed. **

**And I wrote my first oneshot, it's a Plossie, check it out?**

* * *

><p>Times Camp Head Burns insisted I call her 'Penelope': 5<p>

Times the bus driver, name-tag declaring him as a 'Fred', swore at oncoming motor vehicles en-route to Camp Hell: 9

Yawns heard during Camp Director Burns' welcoming speech: 32

Number of Tim Horton's 'Always fresh' Donuts now hidden under seats in Camp Pinehurst bus number six: 12

Jokes cracked by seventh-graders referring to that insert-swear-word-of-choice-here 60s NBC sitcom, _Camp Runamuck_, so far: 13

Times I wished I was home: 17

"And over there by the dining hall are cabins one through four, where the younger campers will be staying..."

Make that 18. I pretended to examine my cuticles so I wouldn't seem so much of a loner (because lets face it: all the girls here have probably known each other forever) during Director Burns'—sorry, _Penelope_—spiel. I turned to our guide , a tanned surfer-chick-type girl called Skye who was apparently also cabin sixteen (my cabin)'s counselor. Basically, the person who had to watch over us, and slept in a room adjacent to our cabin.

Skye was actually super-nice when she gave us a tour of the grounds, showing us the cabins, tennis courts, dining hall, best showers, Arts & Crafts building, and areas for different activities—including General Swim,—then she told us to partner up and explore for the next hour or so before lunch.

"Hey. Wanna partner up?"

I swivel around to find girl my age standing in front of me. She had a mop of dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, bright blue eyes, and was dressed in a Camp Cupcake T-shirt and sneakers. A packet of Sour Patch Straws were sticking out of the pocket of her faded jeans. My stomach growled embarrassingly, and I once again wished I'd stopped for breakfast before coming to this godforsaken place.

To my surprise, the girl smiled and offered me a straw.

"I'm Kristen." She said, as I munched on the sugar-coated stick. "You're new this year, right? I haven't seen you before."

"Massie. Yeah." I was done with the candy now, and my teeth ripped at another nail. Jakkob would've had my head on a platter.

"What cabin are you in?"

"Uh, sixteen."

Kristen's grin broadened. "We're bunkmates, then. Want to see your new home for the next month and a half?"

I smile weakly. Kristen seemed nice, but the Sour Patch Straw was making me feel a little sick. Or maybe it was just nerves. Dad was right—I really did have no experience with the making-new-friends thing. I'd been friends with Kori since nursery school, almost, and after she left Nina had decided to befriend me, instantly making me one of the most popular girls at Octavian Country Day, the school I attended in Westchester.

I followed her to the third-to-last cabin (we were the oldest campers, she explained, and there were two cabins for the girls and two for the boys) and held the door open as I dragged my suitcases into the cabin, which had been left on the porch.

There were two girls in the cabin, on separate bunks on opposite sides of the room.

"So I guess it's time for introductions," Kristen said. "You've already met me. This is Olivia—"she pointed at the girl in the _Swimming—the only sport where you wear less than a cheerleader and look better_ sweatshirt, which would have looked slutty on anyone else, but coupled with her purple streak, innocent expression and neon rings, just made her look ironic. Olivia offered me a friendly smile, and I smiled back.

"And that," Kristen continued, moving her finger to the model-gorgeous girl painting her nails on the bottom bunk in the left corner "—is my step-sister Layne."

Layne looked up, but she didn't smile or offer me candy. Instead, she gave me a once-over, taking in my baggy shirt, short shorts, designer flip-flops, disheveled hair and chewed nails, then returned to her magazine-scanning/nail-painting combo.

"There's Nikki, too, but that crazy girl's probably messing around with Josh somewhere. Oh," she added, suddenly remembering something, "and you have to pick a bunk."

"That one's already taken, and so's that one," she went on with a grimace, "So you can have either the top or the bottom of that one." She pointed at the third empty bunk, right next to the bathroom.

"Um." I look at the bunk. "I'll take top?"

Kristen grinned at me again. "Great. I'm afraid of heights, anyways."

"Don't think she wouldn't have fought for it if you'd have chosen bottom," A teasing voice said. I turn around just in time to see the door swing shut and a flash of white disappear into the bathroom.

"And that," Kristen added, "is Nikki."

The brunette reappeared a couple of seconds later, sans towel and in a scarlet bikini that matched her tan skin tone really well. She plopped onto her bed, splaying her arms out and closing her eyes for a second. Then she propped up on one elbow. "So,—Massie, right? You were on the bus." She remembered. "Where are you from?"

I sat down on my 'bed', stretching my legs out and kicking my suitcase so that it lay flat on its back. I'm suddenly exhausted.

"Westchester."

She nodded. "Cool. I hail from the state of New York too—Manhattan, actually,—but don't tell Kemp that. He still thinks I'm from _Texas."_She said with a wink, her voice shifting to a southern drawl. "Kristen and Layne are from Orlando, and Liv's from Boston, in case you were wondering."

I nod like I was.

"So," Nikki went on, smiling as if she knew something I didn't (and I wasn't sure I wanted to know, either), "I guess it's time for you to unpack."

**...**

"Um."

Nikki smirked at me. "Yup."

She'd been left in charge of showing me the ropes while Kristen and Olivia went to the main building to fetch towels and other toiletries/essentials, and was now leaning against the doorframe as I stared at the small hole in the wall.

"Is this," I started, terrified to hear the answer, "really all the closet space we get?"

There was no way all my clothes were going to fit in here. No _freaking_ way. The space was half the size of my locker at school, and I had to cram two suitcases worth of designer shoes and tees into it?

"It's kind of small, I know," Kristen said, walking into the room with a pile of towels balanced in her arms, Olivia at her heel, and shooting me an apologetic look, "but we all manage."

I sink onto my knees and unzip my suitcase, starting to sort through the tees and camis and shorts and assortment of creams Inez had fitted neatly into the corners of the suitcase to save space. The tune to _Mission: Impossible_ starts to play in my head, and I feel a little dizzy.

Half and hour later, I shove my second suitcase under the bunk and plop onto my bead, shoulders sagging with relief. Crap. I'll have to start being nicer to Inez when I get back. Manual labor is _hard_.

There would apparently be no proper lunchtime meal today, because everyone was arriving at different times, so we were allowed to snack on food from the mini-fridges kept in each cabin in case of emergencies. Kristen threw me a packet of Maltesers and I caught it mid-air, already tasting the sugary goodness that would keep me from fainting from malnutrition.

"It gets better," Kristen offers with a smile.

I'm too tired to smile back, but I say thanks anyways, and tell her I like how she's done her nails. We chat for a bit about summer trends (Nikki) and camp (her) and life in New York (me), and Olivia joins in, commenting that having a streak in _my_ hair would look really cool.

"Maybe you should try purple."

I stare at her, and suddenly I'm trying not to giggle.

She looks confused. "What?"

Maybe it's the exhaustion, or the disorientation, or even homesickness, but I'm suddenly laughing so hard my stomach starts to hurt.

"I'm..sorry...it's...just...that..." I manage to interject through fits of laughter," "Do I...do I really look like the type to have a _purple streak_ in my hair?"

Her eyes widen as she catches on, and then she purses her lips, trying not to smile, too. It fails. "I guess you don't."

Nikki grins. "Atta' girl."

"Want a chocolate?" I hold the packet up, and she rolls her eyes as she takes one, then turns to Kristen and asks her about her spring break.

We had munched through half the packet when Skye walked into the cabin, flashing us all a smile.

"You girls ready?"

"Ready for what?" I ask as soon as she had disappeared into her room, as I checked my phone from messages from Mom, Dad and Nina (four from the former, zero from the latter. Some friend), and thanked God all the clothes had fit.

Kristen stared at me, bemused, and I wondered for a moment whether I'd grown an extra head or something.

"Well," she drew out, "for your first afternoon activity, of course,"

"Tennis." Nikki finished for her.


	3. CourtRelated Shenanigans

...

Tennis, it turned out, was one of the few activities boys and girls actually shared (because seriously, I doubt that many boys were jumping for the chance to join Arts & Crafts or Pottery and learn how to cross-knit or make clay jars), even though it usually took place in the mornings. It was the only mandatory elective (or 'camp activity': we could choose two out of Rock Climbing, Soccer, Basketball, Hiking, Canoeing, Archery, Pottery, Arts and Crafts, Sailing, and Water Sailing, whatever that was)

The afternoon activity on Mondays through to Friday was always General Swim, or so Olivia was telling me.

"Okay," I nod, pretending I know what General Swim is.

Obviously I have a clueless look to my face, because Kristen laughs and says, "GS is basically just where you get to swim around or tan on the beach. some girls use it as an excuse to hang out with the male counselors, who double up as lifeguards." She rolls her eyes.

"Fun," I say, even though it sounds anything but.

"Listen up, girls."

One of the counselors, a blonde girl called Sammi, was in charge of teaching us the basics so that at the end of the session we could have a mini-tournament against the testosterone-fueled group lingering on the other side of the courts.

Kristen was apparently an expert at this, so she partnered up with me and volunteered to show me how to nail a serve. We did this for almost an hour and I'd definitely improved (considering that I'd thought tennis was played with a shuttlecock and the only rule was that it wasn't allowed to touch the ground just an hour ago) until Sammi came around with a clipboard and paired me up with a dark-haired boy with a mismatching pair of eyes.

I try not to wrinkle my nose as Freaky Eyes shakes my hand and we part to our respective ends of the court. He looks amused that I'm his partner, which annoys me. Even though he is undeniably cute.

Kristen winked at me from the next court along and mouthed a "good luck". I smiled back at her.

I'll admit it, I was definately not born to be a tennis player. But I wasn't that bad—we had a few good rallies, and I even managed to win a few points. Things were running smoothly, until it was my turn to serve.

I swung the racket and was rewarded with a heavy _thwack!,_except in my shock, my hand had inadvertedly let go of the racket, too. I watched, frozen, as the ball bounced harmlessly into a bush-and the racket flew through the air...and smacked him in the face.

"Crap,"

I scrambled over to his side of the court, kneeling on the red clay, not thinking about how it would leave ugly marks on my knees that would take forever to get rid of. "Are you okay?"

Freaky-Eyes glanced at me, flashing a wicked smile. I noticed he didn't try to sit up again. "Of course. I have a very high pain threshold. In fact, it's less of a threshold and more of a large and tastefully decorated foyer."'

I gave an incredulous snort and rocked back on my heels.

"If you're sure." I paused. "Does this mean the show must go on?"

He pushed himself onto his elbows,

"I'm Cam, by the way." he said, as I held out my hand to help him up. His fingertips were warm on my skin, and I don't know if it was the warm summer evening air or the adrenaline coursing in my veins, but I could've sworn a shiver—the good kind, like when you hear a great song for the first time or it's just one of those moments where you feel like you're soaring nothing can touch you—ran down my spine.

I find myself grinning for real. "Massie."

Maybe summer camp wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
